


Cups of Tea

by 3six12



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23487937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3six12/pseuds/3six12
Summary: It had started before they had: the cups of tea.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 3
Kudos: 78





	Cups of Tea

Tea was a custom among his people of rather particular importance. The drink was used as a way to center and calm the mind; as a way to foster relationships of all sorts; as a form of sustenance that doubled to warm the naturally cold bodies of Vulcans.

His father had introduced him to tea as a very young child. His first sip, perhaps he had been two years of age, was lukewarm and bland. As he grew, so did the temperature and flavor of the tea. Variety was added, allowing him to experiment as he pleased. Unlike his father, who had few varieties that he would drink, Spock had a large assortment that was ever growing. He would frequent the market with his mother, discovering yet another tin, another take on an old flavor. He would frequent gatherings that centered around the tasting and discussion of tea.

In sum, from a young age, Spock considered himself a tea connoisseur. He became known for the smell that would linger on him, sweet and distinct. At school he would keep sachets of tea in his locker, making use of the replicator to keep him drinking tea throughout the day. He drank such a quantity that his mother once asked if he was getting enough plain water.

That prompted Spock to research and prepare a presentation on the many benefits, including hydration, of tea. His mother was put to ease – Spock suspected as she no longer brought up the topic, instead smiling when she would see him drinking another cup.

It soothed him. Not only the teas that were made for such but the concept of tea in general. It was a grounding concept, constant and yet ever changing. The act of preparing the tea, of gathering the supplies and laying them out methodically, was scientific in nature. The act of drinking the tea was meditative. In fact, Spock would often use tea as he meditated, the warm cup nestled between his hands grounding him.

When he met Jim, the first unfortunate act of disgrace against tea presented itself. It was not with malice, Spock was sure, yet it occurred all the same. Tea became something to work more diligently on with his own time, making up for the loss of respect – although inadvertently – that Jim had given it.

The first cup Jim had made him had not been right. In truth, it was bitter, lingering on Spock’s tongue and offending his senses. Not wishing to offend Jim, Spock drank it with measured sips, focusing his mind on anything other than the taste. The same continued for many cups of tea, and yet Spock continued to drink those many cups of tea. Horrid though they were, it was a welcome addition to their friendship.

They sat in the mess as friends although Spock longed for more. He looked over the rim of his drink, hiding another cringe, at the man who had come to mean so much to him. Feelings for the man, although not foreign, were burning a hole in his chest, consuming his waking hours. He knew of Jim’s many conquests, of all genders and all species. He knew of his kind and caring nature. He treated each of his lovers with respect and left under more than amicable terms, contrary to popular believe. Spock knew this about the man and so much more.

He knew that, as Jim continued to make him tea day after day – in the mess, bringing them to the bridge, preparing them as they sat around a chess game – that Spock would continued to drink them, willing his taste buds to have mercy on his memories. He knew the gentle smiles that Jim would give as he handed him cups of tea, going as far to warm Spock as the tea itself.

He knew he loved this man, this golden ray of piercing blue eyes and fierce passions fueled by deep emotions.

Yet he did not know how to approach him with these feelings. Feelings that often left him feeling ashamed.

Yet it was Jim that approached him. He began their courtship, to which Spock readily agreed. The center of the mans attention, Spock was eager to do most anything to keep it. Including drinking the tea. Especially considering the tea came with touches. The backs of fingers across his cheek that left his skin tingling. The hand that would squeeze a shoulder, running down his back and stopping in the dip above his buttocks. The one that ran through the hair at the base of his skull, making sure to not dishevel it.

The touches developed into kisses, hinted with the taste of tea and ever so enticing. Never in public, only in the privacy of their own rooms. Or the privacy of Jim’s ready room. Or the lift when it was halted. Or the private room in medical. Or the Jefferies tubes. Or the supply closets. Or anywhere else they thought they might not be found.

Spock was beginning to find tea everywhere.

Jim would have cups ready when Spock would return to their quarters, a welcome relief after a particularly long shift. Of a variable variety, they always surprised Spock, for which he was grateful. The monotony of ship life was becoming tiresome, draining Spock of his energy and drive. He would sit and drink the proffered cup, allowing the tea to warm him and cool his nerves.

When they would visit the mess, either for recreation or sustenance, Jim would bring with him a sachet, preparing a cup for Spock and placing it in from of him before taking his own seat. They would sit, talk, drink.

On shore leave, on a planet with ample opportunity for enjoyment, with beaches and city, Jim sat beside him on a chair, looking over the water as Spock sipped. They sat, hand in hand – Spock had been quick to explain the significance and Jim had been quick to use that significance. The beach was calming, as was the tea.

On several occasions, during meetings or when their bridge shift would coincide, Jim brought with him a pre-prepared cup, passing it to Spock. Their fingers would meet, electricity sparking, feelings being exchanged in such a simple touch. Jim would smile at him, a crooked one that was reserved for Spock.

As Jim continued to present Spock with cups of tea, the taste improved, so close to being correct but it left a lingering twinge, hindering his appreciation. It was not until Jim prepared a cup of Vulcan spice – Spock cringed at the idea, apprehensive of how the most treasured take on his childhood would taste – how had Jim managed to obtain even one serving of the almost obsolete drink? – it was the smell that first melted Spock. The taste was the second. Of a perfect temperature, steeped for a perfect amount of time, the memory slid down his throat, settling in his chest and leaving him breathless.

How Jim had managed to recreate a perfect cup of tea after so many failed attempts was beyond Spock; let alone a cup of tea that Spock himself made with the utmost of care. While Jim was a quick study and a man of great intelligence, he had proven himself to be almost useless in preparing tea.

“I used a device to measure the temperature of the water and a time that kept popping up in references. Is it okay? I know I’ve kinda been failing lately,” Jim asked sheepishly, his hands rubbing together.

It had not occurred to Spock that Jim would be nervous about preparing tea. Jim was rarely nervous, his only real tell the rubbing of his hands, and that did not occur often. Nor was it a tell that Spock assumed many knew about. It was his close relationship and the ample amount of time that they spent together that allowed Spock to learn of the tell in the first place.

“It is most pleasing. The taste is indeed accurate. I appreciate the gesture and thank you for the drink.”

“Good,” Jim smiled at him. “Good, I’m glad.”

“How has your day been, Jim?” Spock asked. He took another sip, relishing the sweet burn, the wonderful taste. Jim had been so insistent that Spock call him by his first name that Spock could not help but to oblige. It did not evade Spock that, aside from his title, the majority of his crew – the one other Vulcan aside – called him by his given name.

Jim’s smile had not left his face. If anything, it was brightening. “Bridge shift was great. Slow, yet I was able to visit other departments and see how the ship is doing in general. Having the best crew in the fleet helps; the ship is performing wonderfully. I actually wrote up some numbers today and I’d love for you to look at them?”

“Of course, Captain. I would be most pleased.” Spock nodded, relishing his sips.

“Pleased, huh? Glad I’ve been able to please you so much today.” Jim teased. Spock knew it to be inuendo, flirting.

He enjoyed it, more than he probably should have. If he had been more experienced – Jim would later tell him that he was more than experienced enough, that he was more than skilled enough – he would have returned the gesture. Instead, he gave Jim a small smile, lowering his face and looking at the charming man from under his lashes.

“And what of your day?”

Spock took another sip of his drink, humming around the spice. It was oh so pleasing indeed. “My day has been most productive. I spent an exceptional amount of time this morning meditating. I read up on several scientific and literary reports before leaving for the science department. The project I was overseeing came to a fruitful completion, proving my hypothesis, much to the enjoyment of the entire science department. Overall, my day has been fulfilling.”

“That’s fantastic, Spock.”

Jim’s smile was so addicting, Spock couldn’t help but to stare. He had never before in his life wanted so much to smile. It was beyond tempting. So much about Jim was beyond tempting. Jim himself was a temptation that Spock had a hard time resisting.

This man, who drew forth so many emotions from him. This man, who had saved his life on more occasions than either would have liked to admit. Who had turned his life upside down, which Spock had so willingly allowed him to do.

Who, above all else, Spock desired.

The first time they had made love, the first time Jim had run his hands all over Spock’s body, had touched places unknown even to Spock, had been more magical than any aspect of tea. Jim had led them gently to his bed, pushing Spock down, down, down into the covers, into the mattress. He had worked Spock as no other had before. Spock had been left breathless, defenseless, senseless, gasping and panting out the man’s name as he had done so many times while alone in his own bed.

Spock had left his own mark on Jim, physical, emotional, mental. He had burned his love into those marks. Spock drove Jim crazy and it drove Spock just as crazy. They moved against one another in a timeless rhythm, grasping and gripping for all the life in the world. Crazy for oxygen, for any touch of the world they had left behind when they had left behind their clothes.

It was enough to make any man forget their woes. Jim’s kisses, at times gentle, at others desperate, pulled his soul up and threatened to take it from him. Spock would give it to him gratefully. They lay afterwards tangled in each other, trading soft kisses, tender and with simmered passion. Spock would cherish this moment, carry it with him until it could be had again.

Jim kissed him once more, long and slow, before slipping from the bed. He was naked still, his marks in full view. His buttocks, round and full, seemed to beckon Spock, teasing him. Spock was so inclined to follow him, staying behind only because he wished to know what Jim was doing. 

The turn of events that night was surprisingly wonderful. Spock would have it no other way. He would give Jim anything he desired, anything in the world. If Jim wanted his soul, Spock would give it to him. If Jim wanted Spock to drink more horrendous tea, Spock would do it, without question and without a second thought. Luckily for Spock, Jim had much improved in his abilities to brew a near perfect cup of tea.

Spock watched lazily as Jim moved throughout his quarters, wanting for the man to return to bed, if for nothing else than to lay together. He was not paying him actual attention, instead watching the way his body moved, remembering how it moved in the bed beneath him, as Spock moved inside of him. Spock so wished for that sun kissed man to return to bed.

“Here,” Jim said, pulling Spock from his thoughts.

It was yet another cup of tea and the thought pulled a smile, a genuine smile, from Spock’s lips. This man, his kindness and compassion, knew no bounds. He had been willing to learn a new artform to impress Spock and give him something no one else had, rather he knew it or not. He had done it from the kindness of his soul for reasons that perhaps Spock would never truly know.

It was during a first contact away mission, when Spock was presented with nothing else but alcohol to drink, that the true compassion of Jim was brought forth.

“It’s no disrespect against your people, however some of mine are unable to drink alcohol. Most can and will, willingly too. But there are a few that can’t. So I ask kindly that you allow them to drink something of their choice.” Jim said, looking ever the Captain, his words even and composed, careful to avoid anything that might be considered confrontational.

“Ah.” The leader mumbled. “I had not been aware of that. Apologies. Allow your people to drink as they please. We had only meant to offer our finest drinks.”

Jim nodded, smiling kindly at the older woman. “And that is greatly appreciated. Really, it is. I’ll gladly have my fair share. Thank you for your consideration.”

“Of course. Please, let us get to the festivities.”

Jim had been insightful enough to brink several sachets of tea for Spock, presenting a cup to him as he sat around the fire. He kept him in tea all that evening, surprised when Spock accepted a cup of alcohol from one of the locals.

Leaning into his face, his breath smelling slightly of alcohol, Jim kissed Spock on the cheek. Mindful of the eyes around him, Spock felt disinclined to care. He returned the gesture, following it with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. This caused Jim to chuckle, a sound that Spock loved.

This show of affection was one of so many reasons that Spock loved Jim. He had come to terms with this love so long ago, before he and Jim had officially become a couple. It was not without a large level of discipline and a momentary lapse of self-loathing. That lasted only a short time, the love of his mother reminding him of how fascinating and logical love could truly be.

Jim kissed him once more before burying his face in the crook of Spock’s neck. Spock could feel his hot breath on his neck, enough to make him shiver and the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end.

“I love you, Spock.” Jim mumbled against his neck.

Spock sucked in a breath.

“And I love you, Jim.”


End file.
